20 20
by Adred Lightfoot
Summary: Missing scene fic OOTP: Severus Snape arrives at Grimmauld Place to tell Harry he is to take Occlumency lessons during the next term, and finds Sirius Black in his way. WARNING: sexual violence. FINAL CHAPTER NOW UP 'Clarity'
1. Chapter 1

20/20 

"I'll get to the point, then," said Sirius, standing up. He was rather taller than Snape who, Harry noticed, balled his fist in the pocket of his cloak over what Harry was sure was the handle of his wand. "If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to." (JK Rowling, Order of the Phoenix, p459, British edition.)

He had decided to arrive unannounced. That way, he could avoid whom he wished to avoid, see whom he intended to see, and leave again with the minimum of fuss.

At least, that was the plan. And if that did not work, then it would simply be a pleasure to annoy everyone quite unexpectedly in the process.

And, if not everyone, perhaps just certain people.

Or person.

Severus Snape shrugged his robes a little, and stepped up the weed-fringed path of 12 Grimmauld Place. As he stepped up to the door, wand raised, it creaked open to reveal the malevolent features of Black's' house elf.

The expression on its face was as if it had been hoping to see someone else.

Severus swept past him into the gloomy hall. "I wish to see the boy, Potter, immediately."

"He asks for the filthy half-blood runt," the house elf murmured, closing the door. "He can looks for it himself, he can."

Severus stared. Kreacher stared back, unblinking, his watery eyes calculating and fanatical. Severus carefully raised one eyebrow, just a fraction. The house elf backed off and slipped through a slightly open door, and closed it.

Severus stood still and listened to the house. He could hear children upstairs, laughing. More distantly, the voice of Molly Weasley berating someone. His eyes fell upon the kitchen door. He walked quietly to it and pushed it open.

Black was standing at the kitchen table, his back to the door, preparing vegetables. He was speaking softly to himself, in a tone so low that Severus could not hear distinct words. He cut the potatoes, Severus noticed, with an attitude of inattentive abandon. He watched and waited for the inevitable flesh cut; but it did not come. Black laid down the knife and moved sideways to the sink, where he began to wash a bouquet of asparagus.

Severus smiled slightly, his brow arching in response, as he wondered who Black was cooking asparagus for, if the dolt even realised the implications of the vegetable. He studied the man's figure, noting the jut of his collar bone and his shoulder blade through the worn cloth of his shirt, the hard nub of his wrist bone, the muscle waste visible on his forearm and hinted at beneath the hanging folds of his trouser legs: a shadow of his former self.

He had been handsome, before Azkaban. What must it be like, Severus mused, to have had that adulation, to have had one's pick of playmates and lovers, only to become this slightly unwholesome example of manhood.

A memory of this man from another age momentarily super-imposed itself in front of Severus' eyes, and the potency of it almost made him gasp: but the image, the emotion, was just a snatch, one he had forgotten, or did not remember ever having … he frowned, tugging it gently back into the light, where he could examine it again, but it had disintegrated.

Suspicion uncurled in his mind and he scowled at Black. What had triggered that … unusual train of thought? With care, his hand moved to curl around his wand and he withdrew it, pointed it at Black, and said:

"And the asparagus is for …?"

Black whirled around, dropping the vegetables. His eyes flickered from Severus' face to his wand.

Severus smiled, thinly. "Perhaps you are thinking of feeding some of the aphrodisiac to that house elf of yours? He's certainly in need of some tender loving care, by the look of him."

Black regained his balance. "Don't lecture me on my treatment of others," he said, nastily.

"Get it over with. Behead him. It's what he wants and he's less of a liability."

"That's your choice of solution?" Black smirked, very slightly. "Typical."

Severus smiled, flashing his teeth, his wand still and ready.

Black stared along its length back to his face. "It comes to this," he said, grimly. "A curse to an unarmed man in his own kitchen?"

"Since when were you one to beg for mercy?" Severus hissed, stepping closer.

Black spread his hands and shrugged, nonchalant. "Since when were you one to give it," he said. "Come on, take me, _Snivellus_."

Severus studied him, quite calmly. "As much as the thought tempts me," he said, "I will get my time, but it is not now." Considering Black tamed, he tucked his wand away with a casual air.

Black smiled, revealing a shadow of his former self. "Never one for the subtleties of the _double entendre_."

"On the contrary," he began, in low hiss, but the memory from earlier flitted through his mind again, and he faltered.

"Lost for words? Surely not."

Unnerved, which of course was the last thing he would ever display in front of Black, he reached inside his robes and pulled out the letter. "I would rather have words with Potter," he said, smirking slightly to cover his unease.

"What about?" Black was suddenly serious.

"In private."

"He'll tell me anyway."

Severus raised a brow. "Nevertheless."

"Look, you smug, annoying –"

"Yes, yes," Severus said, in a bored tone, wafting away his insults with the letter, "greasy, slimy –"

"- I was going to say treacherous," Black growled, sullenly.

"Congratulations: a multi-syllabic insult."

"Well, you know, life's too short to waste it thinking up insults!"

"Apparently so, for some."

"You don't get it, do you?" Black asked. He was flushed. His fingers were curled tight into his palms. "Normally, I just -"

"Hex first, insult later?" He smiled, thinly.

They stared at each other. Severus felt his heart pounding with excitement. Black looked just as aroused, more so: he noted the effort in the way he forced his fists to relax.

"That's Dumbledore's writing."

"I want to speak to Potter."

"What about?"

"That is between him and I, and Dumbledore."

Black moved fast. They struggled, toppled, and collapsed to the hard floor in a tangle of limbs and robes. Black was on top of him. He smelled quite strongly of fire whisky and day-old sweat. Severus held the letter at arm's length, bringing his knee up between Black's legs. Black 'Umphed' and twisted away, towards the letter, over-reaching himself and falling on him with his full weight.

The memory that had teased only a little, hooked a finger in his consciousness as he glared up into Black's eyes ….

…. fury, pain, humiliation ….

…. Black looked murderously satisfied to be crushing the breath out of his prey, but then his expression altered as he realised that something had happened in Severus' head. He looked …. shocked, anxious … secretive.

He struggled to get up, but Severus grasped a handful of hair and held him fast. "What?" he hissed through his teeth.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do."

The memory faded in and out …. _Protests, hexes, physically struggling against the strength of another boy …._

Severus released him and Black rolled off, sitting back on his haunches. Severus sat up, still gripping the letter. He stared hard at the other man, but Black's expression was closed.

Something once happened, Severus thought: and I cannot remember it.

That was a terrible feeling. He had twenty-twenty recall. Always.

But Black was not about to enlighten him. Very well.

He offered the letter. Black snatched it and stood up, ripping it open. He got slowly to his feet, straightening and smoothing his robes, patting his wand, flicking his hair back from his face.

"Great," Black muttered, under his breath.

"That would depend upon your perspective."

"What is this shit?" Black waved the parchment.

"Occlumency is certainly not shit!" he hissed through his teeth. "Some of us used the last decade to hone skills other than making friends with fleas and licking their own balls? Why, now I think about it, I'm surprised you ever wanted to leave Azka – "

"Oh, fuck off, Snape!" Black looked really mad, his eyes blazing. He tossed the open letter onto the table. "Why does Harry have to learn this? What will it achieve?"

"Let's just say," Severus murmured, smoothly, "we will be discussing _external penetration_."

Black stared at him, looking shocked and very serious indeed.

"And how to avoid it, of course."

"You _what_?"

"During private lessons, no less." Deliberately, he turned his back on the other man, stretching his arm as if he was going to pull out a chair at the table. "Not a job I would have wished on my worst enemy, obviously, but I'm sure I'll _rise_ to the occasion."

Black struck: he was upon him before Severus heard him move; quick, like a gun hound on its prey, knocking him flat on his stomach on the table, a strong hand on the back of his neck forcing his cheek against the warm wood; the other hand twisting his wand arm up behind his back; his crotch pressed against Severus' buttocks through cloth, feet nudging his own apart, holding him in place, open, vulnerable.

Severus closed his eyes and welcomed the memory inside. It was in the soft pant and solid pressure of the dog-man; in the silence of the stone room; in the pounding of his own heart.

- smell – owl shit – cold air on my back - my arse – a hand – grasping – hands everywhere – flesh – taste of blood -

Pressure across his back. Hot breath on his ear. "You'd rather we did it this way, Snivellus?"

"I believe we've been here before," he tried to purr, but his cheek was too hard against the wood. His arm hurt.

Pause. "You remember."

He shifted a little to relieve the pain, and half expected to feel Sirius hard against him, but felt only a flaccid bundle in response. "Why, I expected a more outstanding response," he breathed, sarcastically, still hazarding guesses.

"On the contrary," Black snarled, "this is the most fun I've had in twelve years. Not counting licking my balls."

"Naturally. Did you Obliviate me, or was that someone else?"

Pause again. "That was Peter. Obviously. Another fucked-up curse." Black suddenly released him and stepped back. When Severus pushed himself up from the table and turned, he was standing at the sink again, staring out of the grimy window into the dismal street.

Severus straightened his hair and his robes. He patted his wand, and pulled up a chair, finding his legs suddenly too shaky. Besides, he was probably safer, with his arse on a chair.

Questions clamoured for attention on his lips, but he pressed them back, reading all the answers he could ever want on Black's somber profile. Strangely, he felt quite numb to what he had discovered, as if it had happened to another boy, one he did not much like, one he did not know. A small voice whispered, _It's you, Severus, they raped you, those _brave_ boys._

And, like cowards, stole the memory. Severus raked his eyes across every inch of Black, seeking the Gryffindor, and failing. And Black knew it, felt it. Severus wondered if he remembered it as he had remembered Lily and James' deaths: often, and with regret; one of them, at least, should have got some mileage out of it.

"Did I fight well?" He had not meant to ask the question, but did not regret it.

Black turned his head slightly and eyed him. The late sunlight trickled sickly yellow through the glass and lit his face, glinting faintly off his eyes. He nodded, sharply, once.

"Did you hurt me?"

Black's nostrils flared and his jaw set.

Severus drummed his finger tips softly on the table, his mind gathering speed, his heart thump-thumping quite alarmingly. He swallowed, hard. "Did I weep," he demanded quietly, his voice tight.

Black stared at him for a moment longer, looking slightly bewildered, then turned his face away to the window again. "Of course you fucking didn't," he said, thickly.

He let loose a long, deep, slow breath, and folded his hands on his lap. "Interesting."

"Not really." Black plunged his hands into the sink and began washing them. "I can't say that it was something I've looked back upon and thought, hey, that was interesting, I should …." Silence dragged across the words he left unsaid.

"Such Slytherin qualities," Severus mused.

"No, I was just a bastard, not a Slytherin," he bit back.

And he did not say sorry, Severus noted, with cool satisfaction.

"So," he said, attentively, "where were we? Ah, yes: _Harry_." He smirked.

Black turned. His hands dripped water onto the stone floor. "And why would you suddenly use his first name?" he growled, quietly.

Severus sprang to his feet, pointing his wand at an astonished Black, and he said, _"Legilimens!"_

Black fell back against the kitchen worktop. Severus snatched images across the connection. Black groaned and slumped to the floor. Severus endured what he could of Azkaban and, more strangely, of being a dog, and withdrew. He sat down again, replacing his wand and folding his hands calmly on his lap, fighting to control his racing heart.

Black struggled to his feet, looking shocked. He just stared back.

"If you'd have studied Occlumency, you would have been able to avoid that," Severus said.

At that moment, the kitchen door burst open, and Molly Weasley struggled in under the weight of a laundry basket. She stopped at the sight of him, her eyes flickering to their host and back again. She set the basket on the edge of the table. "Prof – Severus," she said, with an effort at warmth in her tone.

"Molly. I assume Potter is here. I have a message for him from Dumbledore."

"He's upstairs," she replied. "I'll get him for you, shall I?" There was a crease in the quick look she cast Black before she turned back out of the room.

"Legilimency," Black said, breathlessly. "Rape of the mind."

Severus did not respond. He let the theory take shape in Black's head.

"Look, Snape, I'm –" Black broke off, taking a deep breath, "I'm ashamed of what we did."

Severus surveyed him through narrowed eyes. "How noble."

"I just want you to know that."

"Why?"

Black was silent. He absently wiped the palms of his hands on his trousers.

"Perhaps I will call round, one night, with Dumbledore's Pensieve. Because, unfortunately, as I can't quite remember what you did, and as Legilimency is not always the most precise art, you may, out of the goodness of your repentant heart, like to give me the opportunity to properly examine the event."

Black looked sickened. He sank into a chair at the table and stared at the open letter. Snape clamped his jaw tight against the near-hysterical insults that threatened to pour from his lips. He could feel the numbness melting. The desire for revenge would soon flare. From experience, he knew he would likely only benefit from it if he encouraged it to smoulder, slowly, over time.

He had to get this over and done with, before he cracked. But who could have resisted another twist of the knife?

"We were about _Harry's_ age, weren't we?" he asked, casually.

"I will kill you," Black said, quite simply, with the venom of a Slytherin, "if Voldemort doesn't get you first."

"Yes," Severus said, soothingly, "if your limp reaction to my prone body is anything to go by, another forceful buggering would be out of the question."

The door swung open and footsteps shuffled. "Er," Potter said, articulately.

Severus turned to the boy framed in the doorway. "Sit down, Potter," he said.

The End


	2. Chapter 2

**20/20: Black's Worst Memory**

"_So," said Snape, gripping Harry's arm so tightly Harry's hand was starting to feel numb. "So…been enjoying yourself, Potter?"_

"_N-no," said Harry, trying to free his arm._

_It was scary: Snape's lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth were bared._

"_Amusing man, your father, wasn't he?" said Snape, shaking Harry so hard his glasses slipped down his nose._

"I – didn't –" 

_Snape threw Harry from him with all his might. Harry fell hard on to the dungeon floor._

"_You will not repeat what you saw to anybody!" Snape bellowed._

"_No," said Harry, getting to his feet as far from Snape as he could. "No, of course I w –"_

"_Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!"_

_(The Order of the Phoenix, p572, British hardback edition)_

He stood in the shadows and watched the house. The evening dragged by, but time eventually slowed the furious thudding of his heart, subdued the rage that had left him breathless and barely in control of himself.

Now it was simply nausea, a tightness in his throat. Perhaps also an icy sense of purpose.

Periodically he stared up past the house roofs to the gallery of stars, almost obliterated by the sickly yellow glare of street lamps and gaudy festive flashing lights decorating the Muggle dwellings. But his eyes were keen, and he picked out each constellation in turn, wondering what it was that the Centaurs saw in them that a man could not.

Did they see this, he thought: they had surely foretold the tale of Harry Potter, but had they also revealed the secrets of the other players?

For example, the chapter where fifteen-year-old Severus Snape was raped in the Owlery by Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.

His lips parted and he sucked the cold air through his teeth, making them ache a little. Pettigrew was currently protected by the Dark Lord, but he was certain he'd get an opportunity to settle that score. His guts tightened at the thought of the mean, watery eyes sliding over him at their latest meeting: _thinking of that night, were you, Rat? _

The trouble was, he couldn't remember it. There were only two people alive who could: Pettigrew and Black, thanks to his Obliviation by Pettigrew. And since the Rat was out-of-bounds, for the time being, that left the Mutt.

As if there had not been enough to hate Black for, now there was this: despite himself, he smirked. But it was a cold feeling, and it slid from his face. He knew, in a very calm, rational way, that he was not going to enjoy this either. It was going to be a hard, long night, with hard, long sleepless nights to follow.

Never let it be said that Severus Snape shied from the truth when it mattered. And this mattered. Just as one did not turn away because of fear, one did not turn away because of reality.

_I am not a victim. _

The Pensieve had become an uncomfortable weight against his ribs, as he stood against the house wall of number 8. The bland, domestic noises coming from that house were becoming less frequent, softer, as the evening grew to night, and the heavens arced above him.

12 Grimmauld Place looked deserted. Nobody in or out for hours. Severus knew that the only danger to this plan was that Lupin was inside – the other Order members had their jobs and their homes, but the Werewolf was the most frequent and long-staying visitor here. _All dogs together._

Severus felt the air cold on his teeth, and realised he was smiling again. Or snarling. The distant chime of church bells hailed the time as midnight. He stepped from the shadows and walked purposefully up to the shabby front door, and tapped it three times with his wand. The door opened, and he entered the house of Black.

The hallway was as black as pitch when the front door closed quietly behind him, but for a narrow glimmer of light coming under the kitchen door. He trod carefully towards it and had raised his hand to push it open when it swung inwards.

"G'd evening, Snape. Why don't you come in, and take a seat."

Black was seated at the kitchen table, a half-empty bottle and a full glass before him, his gloomy expression lit by three candles flickering from a tarnished candelabra. He redirected his wand and summoned a second glass, then laid his weapon in front of him on the table and poured a second glass. "Ogden's. Takes the chill off. Well, works on most people, anyway. If they're warm-blooded to start with."

So, he was expected. A low fire in the grate revealed no other persons present, so Snape relaxed his grip on his wand, and slid it into a pocket. "Cheap jibes. Though it's what I've come to expect."

"Waiting so long was quite unnecessary," Black continued, almost conversationally. "I've been alone here since five. We could have been done long ago."

Severus caught an image of Black sitting alone in this kitchen night after night, waiting for this moment. How ironic it had come because of his godson's behaviour. He pushed the door closed behind him and said, smoothly, "Presumptuous of you. I myself have no idea how long this will take."

Black grinned, his eyes glittering in the candlelight, raising his glass and swallowing. "And when we are done, then we're even."

Severus carefully lifted the Pensieve from inside his clothing and placed it on the table between them. "Whatever do you mean, Black?"

Black licked his bottom lip. "I mean, no more threatening Harry."

Severus removed his travelling cloak and laid it over the back of a chair, then sat down, laying his own wand on the table, within easy reach. "Fascinating."

"What is?"

"That you believe, after all these years, that I am capable of such petty revenge."

Black looked genuinely taken aback, then laughed. "You're Severus Snape." He spat the name as if it was filth on his tongue. "You once said you could have killed me, at the Shrieking Shack."

"You tried to kill me."

"You handed me over to the Dementors." Black smiled. "It must have been a terrible disappointment, that I lived."

"On the contrary," Severus replied, smirking, "I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

Their eyes blazed at each other over the flames. Then Black dropped his gaze. Severus pushed the candelabra out of the way, and moved the Pensieve closer to Black, who eyed it with the expression of a man who was doomed. His hand scratched for his wand, and found it, then was still again.

Severus liked the other man's reluctance. "You do know how to use one of these," he said.

"Of course I do!" But still Black hesitated.

Severus said, silkily, "You owe me."

Black raised his eyes to meet his gaze, this time unflinchingly. "Yes," he muttered. "Can't have that, can I?" And he pointed his wand to his brow, and drew a silver thread down into the bowl. Again and again, until the bowl swirled with memories, he did this, then laid his wand down again. The two men observed it in silence.

Severus found that the fear and trepidation he had fought all day to control was welling inside him, and felt almost paralysed by it. He leaned forward and stared into the beautiful light of Black's memories that held their grim past and an uncertain future. Then, without warning, he snatched his arm across to grip Black's wrist, and plunged them both into the Pensieve.

"You bastard!" he heard Black gasp as they fell.

And suddenly, landed, on carpet. Snape looked around himself in wonder, allowing Black to pull away: so, this was the Gryffindor dormitory. He thrust his head through velvet curtains and found himself looking down at a fifteen year old Lupin, pale and troubled in sleep.

"Oh, Merlin," he heard Black breathe, and he turned. Black was standing beside another bed. Over his shoulder Severus saw the familiar untidy black hair of James Potter framed against the white cotton of a pillow.

"We're not here to sight-see, Black," he muttered, but noted the grief and shock etched on Black's face, and surprised himself by not going further. He felt slightly annoyed: Gryffindor's wore their hearts on their sleeves, they were so easy to read, but why should that affect him now?

A small noise, a _flip-flip_, caught his attention from one of the other beds.

Young Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew sat cross-legged on the bed, playing cards in silence. The game was fast and was not one Severus was familiar with.

"Snap!"

Pettigrew gave a small groan, whilst Sirius scooped up the pile and shuffled them into line in his palm, grinning. "Not quick enough, Wormtail," he said.

"I'm never quick enough," the Rat-Boy sighed, melodramatically.

"That's why you're shit at Quidditch." He playfully slapped the smaller boy's head with his handful of cards. "We can't all be James, Peter. We just have to be content to bask in his shadow."

"You don't bask," Pettigrew said, a little sullenly, but Severus saw a glimmer of pleasure in his eyes.

"It's going to be hard on him, with his detentions and no practice for the next month," Sirius said, scowling. "I can't believe Evans snitched."

"Snitched," Pettigrew giggled.

But Sirius didn't think it was funny. "After he called her a Mudblood and everything! What's the matter with the girl?"

"Prongs needs to teach her a lesson," Pettigrew said, authoritatively.

"We need to teach Snivellus a lesson," Sirius said, more thoughtfully.

"_Well,"_ Severus said, _"you certainly tried."_ He felt silly: of course they couldn't hear him.

Black said, close behind him, _"Bloody hell."_

Severus smoothly put more distance between them, trying to appear as if he was not doing. _I am not scared of him_. Not that Black would have noticed anyway: he was completely absorbed by his younger self.

"Yes," Severus sneered, softly, "you do look somewhat different."

Black's gaze shifted to Pettigrew, and his awed expression altered quite subtly. In that handful of time, only a few beats of his heart, Severus suddenly glimpsed an understanding of what it was to be Sirius Black then and now: handsome, clever, idolised …. decimated, betrayed, abandoned.

Appalled by his sympathetic insight, he drew on his memories: there were certainly enough of them to chill his insides until they felt like they were on fire with the need to hurt, to exact a precise and complete revenge.

"Do you think there's -? No, no!" Sirius shook his head.

"What?"

"That there's something between Snape and Evans."

Pettigrew gave a shrill laugh. "I heard he – well, _beats_ for the other side."

"He – oh. Really?"

Pettigrew's eyes glittered. "Oh, yes." He leaned towards his friend. "Got caught sucking Lucius Malfoy's 'thing' in the first year. Up in the Owlery."

"_Liar,"_ Severus murmured.

"No-one goes to the Owlery for that – maybe the Astronomy Tower," Sirius said, suddenly thoughtful. "Who told you that?"

"I – oh, can't rememb –"

"_Is it a lie?"_ asked Black.

Severus gave Black a withering glare.

"Maybe he does beat for the other side, then. But why is Evans so bloody protective of him?"

"I know Snivellus hangs around the Owlery," Pettigrew said, helpfully.

"_Sending owls, perhaps,"_ Severus muttered.

"_This is fucking weird,"_ Black said.

"_It's not going to get any better,"_ Severus replied, sharply.

"Maybe there's an opportunity there," Sirius mused. "Get him on his own. Without Evans sticking her beak in."

"_Why did Lily stick up for you so much?"_ the Black beside him asked.

"_Only the once,"_ he said. _"For what it was worth."_

Black gave an unexpected lop-sided grin. _"Well, it wound James up. I'd say she scored a direct hit."_

"_So glad I could be of service."_

"Another game, Sirius?" Pettigrew asked, even as Sirius yawned.

"Nah, bedtime, mate."

"We could nip up to the Owlery -?"

"Not even the sight of Filch buggering Snivellus could tempt me up there at this hour," Sirius said, yawning again.

"Okay," said Pettigrew, looking crestfallen.

"_I don't remember any of this,"_ Black said, quietly.

"_It was obviously of little importance to you at the time,"_ Severus said, dryly.

As Pettigrew slipped from Sirius' bed and scuttled to his own, there was a shift, a change, and suddenly ….

They were in the Owlery.

All three of them; two of them twice.

Severus felt Black beside him as they stood in the dark recesses of the Owlery. Before them, beside an arch that concealed them from their prey, were young Sirius and Pettigrew, watching. In the moonlit open space beyond, fastening a scroll to the leg of a tawny owl, was his fifteen-year old self.

Severus gaped. It was so strange to see oneself as others saw you: scrawny, slightly hunched, beaky nose clear against the evening light that shafted through the window.

"_I don't want to see –" _Black began, and swore as Severus grasped his arm to prevent him from leaving.

"_You think I do?"_ he hissed.

"_Well, yes, now you –"_

"Shut up!" 

Young Sirius and Pettigrew stepped inside the room, wands raised, and the thin boy turned, startled, practically throwing the owl from him. It swooped through the open window, and was gone.

"Letter to your boyfriend?" Sirius asked.

"Original," the younger Snape snarled. The moonlight glanced off his eyes as they moved between the faces and wands of his adversaries. "You two obviously want the privacy, so I'll leave you in peace."

He only took one step before he was felled by a jelly legs hex.

Beside him, Black gave a small moan, as Severus thought he could practically feel his palms sliding over fresh owl droppings as his younger self scrabbled for purchase on the floor.

"Whoops," Sirius said, sarcastically.

Pettigrew sniggered.

Young Severus was on his feet again, unstable, patting his pocket for his wand.

"I don't think so," Sirius said, and got him with a tripping hex. Severus sprawled in the shit again. Severus could smell it, acrid and sharp. "Changed your pants yet?"

"Strip him and see," Pettigrew said, greedily.

"You seem rather _too_ interested in my pants," young Severus breathed.

Sirius said, sharply, "And what's _that_ meant to mean?"

"Well, you know, there are rumours about the four of you." Young Severus stood, slowly, unfolding his thin limbs until he stood straight, defiant. "So, what, you're here because Potter's turned to the other side, Lupin's too dangerous, and _this_ pathetic little shit doesn't turn you on?"

Pettigrew swore, indignantly. Sirius gaped.

Young Severus tugged his robes straight. "Sorry, to disappoint you, Black, but I'm no arse bandit." His wand appeared in his hand, but Sirius flicked his and yelled, "Expelliarmus!"

"_Why couldn't you have just shut the fuck up,"_ Black moaned, softly, beside him.

"_Oh, yes,"_ Severus snarled into his face, making Black flinch. _"My fault, is it?"_

He watched as he was felled by another curse from Pettigrew, who was literally dancing around with agitation and excitement. " – show the greasy git!" he whined.

"You couldn't show me if someone gave you directions!"

"_Impedimentia_!"

"Like them incapacitated, do you, Pettigrew?"

"Actually," Pettigrew said, his eyes alight and quite terrifying, "yes."

Black's breath caught in his throat.

"Don't be disgusting, Peter," Sirius said, absently, as they moved to stand over him. "What shall we do with him?"

Black hung back, turning his head away, and Severus dragged him forward again, and closer: it was easier in a memory, sliding across the shit-caked slabs as if they were coated in ice.

"If you touch me, I'll kill you," Young Severus spat. He looked furious, and anxious, now. Sweat shone on his brow.

"I don't think you're in a position to threaten me," said Sirius, unconcerned, dispatching a stinging hex to a vulnerable spot.

Young Severus howled with pain. "I know things," he panted. "Regalus has told me things – I think you'd rather weren't known to your Gryffindor friends."

"My stupid brother knows nothing." But Sirius' expression had sharpened again, and Pettigrew has stilled, waiting. Beside Severus, Black muttered something under his breath.

"Let me go," young Severus whispered.

Young Sirius hesitated.

Pettigrew's wand arced towards his friend and there was a small pop, and a shudder in the air.

"_What the ….?"_ Black muttered. _"What just happened?"_

And, suddenly, young Severus was stripped naked, his clothing dragged off by invisible hands and discarded.

Black was dragging back again. Impatiently, Severus yanked hard on his arm, they struggled, and Severus forced him down and lay across him, not looking at him, looking past him, into the past. He took Black's head in his hands and turned him to the scene, made him watch.

A painfully thin Severus, skin silver in the moonlight, pushed to his knees in the shit on the floor.

Beneath him, Black stifled a sob.

Severus watched the act that Pettigrew made him perform with sick fascination. He retched. Black dodged, but nothing came up: they were in a memory with no substance. But he had felt it, the abomination of Pettigrew in his mouth, the humiliation, the fear.

But he was a fighter. He stole Pettigrew's wand. Sirius yelled 'Expelliarmus' and it was flicked to the other side of the Owlery, Pettigrew scuttling after it, and he struggling up, aiming at Sirius with a balled fist and taking a wand-slash to the face and a punch to the ribs. Young Severus still did not give up. He and Sirius rolled across the floor, and he bit and clawed and fought for Sirius' wand. Sirius looked surprised and angry.

Then Pettigrew Stunned him, completing the flourish with a little, subtle movement that Severus was certain was a charm of some kind, aimed at Young Sirius.

Sirius heaved his prone body over a crate, face-first, tearing at the front of his own robes.

Pettigrew laughed, laughed. Beneath him, Black trembled uncontrollably, his breath sharp and quick. Between layers of cloth, Severus could feel each of his ribs against his own. He watched the past, as Sirius unleashed what he appeared to consider his ultimate strength from his robes, and pressed himself against his young self, against, against, inside, inside.

Pain exploded in that place, pain from the past brought to the future. _Did I weep?_ he had asked Black. He did not. His face was stark with horror and hurt and fury, nothing more or less.

A spark of pride softened the agony.

He looked down at Black. The Dog-man had closed his eyes. His ethereal lashes were jewelled with insubstantial tears. He wondered if, in the present, these tears were real. At least one of them had shed.

In the past, only a few feet away, Pettigrew ejaculated over his bent head.

Severus loosened his hold on Black and sat up. Black rolled onto his side, head bowed against the scene.

The Gryffindor boys quickly tidied themselves up and young Severus slid from the crate onto the floor, knees up, arms wrapped around himself, face buried.

Pettigrew kicked at him, but Sirius pulled him away. Pettigrew pointed his wand instead, and said, clearly, "Obliviate!"

Young Severus swayed, then slumped.

The Owlery was suddenly still and quiet, apart from the tap and flutter of the birds.

"Fuck, Peter," Sirius said, and his tone was horrified.

"We can't have him remembering, can we?" Pettigrew said, breathlessly, pocketing his wand.

"I'm not talking about that!" Sirius said, desperately.

"Do you want me to Obliviate you too? Wasn't that fun?" Pettigrew demanded, his voice high.

Young Sirius stared at his friend as if he had never seen him before.

"It was …. I didn't …. mean …"

Pettigrew looked annoyed. "I thought you wanted that all along," he said, sulkily. "Teach him a lesson. Buggering's a good lesson. Believe me."

"Peter, we've really got to talk –"

But Pettigrew turned and scuttled from his friend, veering off into the shadows, banging the door behind him.

Sirius turned and stared at the unconscious boy. Severus moved sideways so he could see his expression. It was …. stricken.

Black stood beside him. He gripped his arm, and they began to rise from the memory. Below them, young Sirius Black pointed his wand and said, in a cracked voice, "_Enervate_!" then ran from the room.

The edge of the table dug into Severus' ribs. Severus released his hold and Black fell back onto his chair. They briefly met each others gaze, and glanced away. Severus looked down into the Pensieve. The memory was still there, swirling gently, incongruously.

Severus understood Time: as a healer; as a constraint; that it sometimes needed a stitch; sometimes it was wasted; it should not be squandered; it told.

_Time will tell._

And, sometimes, it was stolen.

* * *

_To be continued_

_Thanks to Thirteen Ravens and ReflectioninFire for beta-ing._

Please review! This is obviously an angsty story with a delicate subject, so feedback would be really appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**20/20: Time will tell**

_The edge of the table dug into Severus' ribs. Severus released his hold and Black fell back onto his chair. They briefly met each other's gaze, and glanced away. Severus looked down into the Pensieve. The memory was still there, swirling gently, incongruously. _

_Severus understood Time: as a healer; as a constraint; that it sometimes needed a stitch; sometimes it was wasted; it should not be squandered; it told._

Time will tell.

_And, sometimes, it was stolen._

_(Recap – '20/20: Black's Worst Memory')_

Severus turned these thoughts over in his head. The irony, _the breath-taking irony_, was not lost on him.

Pettigrew had not only Obliviated him, he had Obliviated Black and modified his memory. And Severus was quite certain that Black had not the slightest suspicion of this. Pettigrew had arced his wand, removing something that he thought would incriminate him to his friend, something worse than conspiring to commit rape.

The thing was, as ugly as the scene had been up to that point, it had not seemed to Severus that Black had intended to rape him. And, with the clarity of 20/20 Pensieve vision, it was apparent to Severus that Pettigrew had made him do it by magical means: he had used his wand to cast, not just the Obliviation, but another spell too.

_There goes my revenge.._

Severus ran his thumb along his lips, frowning. He felt cheated: the viewing of memory he had thought would settle his curiosity and this matter, was not in Black's accessible mind, but in the inaccessible one of the Dark Lord's left-hand man.

_Fuck._

Furthermore, it would appear that Sirius Black was not to blame for what had happened.

_Well, what a turn up for the books: Black innocent, _again_. He really is beginning to smell of roses._

Pettigrew had cast a controlling curse: not Imperius, because that would have been picked up by the Misuse of Magic Office, but another, more subtle one, a much lesser known one that only someone obsessed with magical knowledge might know. Someone had tutored the boy, but still his opinion of the rogue wizard went up: he was more proficient than he had thought, and after all this incident was only four years before he sold his own friends to the Dark Lord.

This visit was in danger of turning into rather a disappointment.

The glassy thud of Black's whiskey glass on the table made him glance up. The mellow light of the kitchen did not do Black's stricken expression true justice: he just looked like any man, drowning feeble sorrows.

_Do the heavens see?_ thought Severus: _and what is it they see? That a boy, now a man, had been violated? That a boy, now a man, had been tricked? That a boy, now a man, should pay?_ Severus was not naïve: he knew that in the natural order of things, people were wronged, and never got recompense –

Black suddenly leaped up, knocking the table and overturning his chair, completely startling Severus so much that his wand was in his hand before he was aware of it. But Black just staggered to the sink, and began to vomit.

Severus lowered his wand, watching him, not quite seeing: were these crimes important, in the entire scheme of things?

He shook that Dumbledore-esque thought from his head: _of course they fucking were_. Dumbledore saw it fit to leave the Potter boy in a Muggle household where he was as unloved a boy as ever there was one – despite it being obvious that any boy with Slytherin potential – which he knew the boy had – required the most careful and loving family life lest …. lest ….

_Damn it, the small things _mattered

The sour stench of vomit vanished as Black cleaned himself up with wand and water. Severus studied him. Fury and frustration roiled inside him. He felt he could only just bear it. He felt cheated.

Black turned and leaned against the sink, mopping his mouth with a tea towel and regarding the Pensieve as it if was going to erupt. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Please don't say you're sorry," Severus cut in, dryly, sitting down again.

"I was going to say I can think of plenty of ways that thing could be put to better use," Black replied, apparently attempting levity.

"Ah. You mean by observing _consensual_ encounters."

Black stared at him, off-balance. Water dripped from his hair, darkening the front of his shirt. Severus half-expected him to shake himself. But he just stared for a moment, then lowered his eyes to stare at the Pensieve.

"Snape," he said, then stopped, raised his eyes, approached the table. "Severus. Look, we're on the same side here. There are good reasons why we hate each other, and … not so good reasons. Who gives a fuck any more?"

"They are small matters, after all," Severus murmured.

Black pulled up his chair and sat carefully. "I'm … sorry," he said after a measured pause. "I'm sorry I was that boy." He met Severus' eyes, unblinking. "I'm sorry I did that to you. I don't … know why … but believe me, I am sorry."

Severus stared: he had, of course, expected an apology, even from the Mutt; but this was somehow more disappointingly poignant than he had anticipated. Especially in light of the fact that Black was not entirely guilty.

Black regarded him speculatively. Severus toyed with the idea of exerting Legilimens upon him to see how genuine the apology was.

Black buried his face in his hands and groaned, "That was …" his voice trailed off incomprehensibly. He raised his head and stared at the Pensieve. "Can we blast that thing into oblivion?"

"Rid you of the memory?" Severus said, slowly. "Of course. You've suffered enough. Why should you have to suffer that again."

Black stared at him in astonishment, then his expression hardened. "Bloody hell, I almost believed you then."

They fell into silence. Severus felt he had nothing more to say, or even do. Strangely, everything he had imagined saying and doing to Black seemed inappropriate – not because the man had been coerced, but because he suddenly felt … not quite himself.

Black poured himself a drink. "You, uh, want to go to Dumbledore with this, I suppose."

A cold hand clenched Severus' heart. "I think not," he said, thinly.

"Come on, Snape: it's proof of what a bastard I am."

Severus smirked. "We didn't need this to tell us that."

"Dumbledore's your man. Your pro-tec-tor." Black clipped the last word and downed the Ogden's in one. It appeared to sting his throat, this time.

"Yours too."

"You've got one up on me, though." Black winced again. "Bad pun. Bad. I am sorry, Snape. I am."

"Of course. You've disappointed yourself. You thought you were better than that. A hero."

"I'd bet you've done worse, for _fun_."

Severus met the man's eyes. "But I am not a Gryffindor. I have no high moral expectation of myself."

Black barked a laugh. "I do believe – why, Severus, I believe I've disappointed _you_ too!"

Severus snarled.

"Look, I want to be punished," Black said, seriously, "I want people to know what I did."

Severus leaped back from the table, biting back his gut reaction, trying to maintain control. Finally, he said, in as low and dangerous a tone as he could muster, "I have no desire to share my humiliation with anyone, Black. I assure you, whatever you feel–!" He stopped.

Black was gazing evenly up at him. He leaned back into his chair. "I saw it," he said.

"What?"

"Peter Obliviated me."

_Ah. _"You think that's what happened?"

"Don't try that on me, you cunning git!" Black thumped the table. "You were going to let me believe it was all my own work!"

They glared at each other

"You deserve all you get," Severus spat.

"Where's _your_ Order of Merlin, you sad, sarcastic bastard? You're not whiter than white."

Severus heard his own dry laugh crackle around the candle-licked room. "We return to this: that I am inherently evil and nothing else matters. The world is not black and white. Or Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"You should try to remember that sometime," Black snarled. "Let's see, where were we? Peter charmed me, I buggered you, Peter Obliviated me, Peter Obliviated you, and here we are having tea. Sorry, Firewhiskey." Black slurped. "And now you're probably going to try to hex the arse off me, because you realise I'm not the complete bastard you thought I was." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "But you still hate me anyway, and it's too good to resist, isn't it, _Severus_?"

Severus stared at him in wonder. Black was so arrogant and careless. And drunk. He didn't care, he really didn't care, what might happen next. The man was so _blasé_.

"Raped," he corrected, evenly.

Black frowned, then shrugged and nodded. "Right. Raped. I raped you."

The painful physical sensation that had touched him inside the memory brushed past his awareness again, and he shuddered, almost gagging. He regarded the glass Black had poured for him. He took a drink: it burned; good.

"Could've been worse," Black murmured, "could've been Peter."

Severus didn't even realise that he had cast the hex until he was crouching over Black, who had been knocked backwards so far his head was almost in the fireplace. "You disgusting mutt," he seethed into Black's face. "You stinking, hairy, drunken, self-obsessed failure."

"That's more like it, _Snivellus_," Black breathed, toxically.

Severus poked his wand into the slightly saggy flesh at Black's throat. "You're pathetic and worthless." He drew in a steadying breath, and withdrew his wand. "Fortunately for Potter, there are _other_ role models in his life, for him to spend time with and learn from." Though it probably wasn't prudent to mention that he was not one of them after the Occlumency lesson tonight.

Black didn't take the bait. He slowly blinked up at him. Severus leaned in until their noses almost touched.

"You know you'll never be as worthy as his parents thought you were."

Black's expression did not change: he did know. "It's almost like love, isn't it," he said, softly, "this hate."

"I wouldn't know," Severus replied with a genuine sneer.

Black laughed, raspingly. "One might almost say I've had a crush on you since we were eleven, eh, Severus?"

"Do you _want_ me to curse you into next week?" Severus snapped, incredulously.

"I don't give a shit. Do something, for fuck's sake. This is the second time you've mounted me tonight. What do you say, Severus, an eye for an eye?" Black's chest shuddered with laughter. "Shall I roll over?"

Severus slid off him and got to his feet, tucking away his wand.

"Aw, go on, Severus: you know you want to."

Severus took another drink to quash his nausea. He could not speak, not even terrible words.

There was a noise in the hallway outside and they fell silent. A voice called, in a loud whisper, "Padfoot?"

"Oh, _Moony_," came the sigh from the hearth.

Lupin. Severus looked wildly at the strange array on the table as footsteps came down the hall towards them. There was no time to hide the Pensieve. Black looked unconcerned as he propped himself up on one arm, and wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand.

The door opened. Lupin's habitually calm expression changed to one of cautious alarm as he viewed what must have been an odd scene.

"Lupin," Severus greeted, and gracefully seated himself at the table.

"Severus. Uh. Sirius –?"

"Don't fret, Moony," Black said, struggling to his feet and banging his head on the lintel. "Merlin's _bollocks_!"

Lupin's gaze moved from his friend to the table top, then to Severus, and back again. "Right. Don't fret."

"It's OK!" Black sank into his chair, rubbing his head. "Sev and I were just having a drink."

"I really must be going," Severus said, pointedly, wanting to avoid Lupin's questioning, and feeling out-numbered.

"No," said Black. "Moony, bugger off, will you? We've got unfinished business."

"No," Severus said, "I believe we're done."

"I insist," Black said.

"Fuck you," Severus replied, twisting his mouth into a grim smile.

"Yes," Lupin said, blandly, "I see, just a drink."

"Maybe you can talk some sense into him," Severus said.

"Not so far," Lupin frowned.

"Professor Dumbledore will require the return of his Pensieve," Severus said.

Black gestured. "Take it."

Severus twirled his wand between his finger and thumb. "Your memories," he said.

"These are yours?" Lupin asked, glancing speculatively at the bowl. To Severus it looked as if he looked more worried than was usual.

"Yeah," Black said. "Help yourself, Moony. I sure as hell don't want them, Severus obviously doesn't."

"Get out, Moony," Severus said. "I mean, _Lupin_."

"Now you're seeing sense," Black growled.

"I'm not happy about this," said Lupin.

"Well, you're out-numbered," Black said, shortly. "'Cause we're both bloody ecstatic about our new friendship, aren't we, Severus?"

Lupin looked at them both, thoughtfully, then left.

The kitchen door clicked shut and Severus raised his wand and shot long, snakelike cords towards Black, binding him to his chair. Slowly, Severus advanced. Only the movement of his captive's eyes showed any emotion as he lifted an elastic strand of the memory and touched it to Black's brow.

First thing first: Black deserved these memories back.

Beyond that …. There was limited time to plan and plot, but he would be sure to set aside sufficient attention.

_The small things are important_. And this was huge. He sensed it, a blackness in his soul, a blankness, devoid of the appropriate emotions. Knee-jerk reaction was simply not appropriate enough a response for this.

_Revenge is a dish best eaten cold._

He said, mustering calm, "Don't for one moment think that this makes it alright, Black."

Black growled, sullenly.

The Pensieve was scoured of all traces of what had happened, and Severus released him and tucked the item into his robes. "Thank you for your hospitality," he said to Black's downcast gaze. "It's been most illuminating."

"I'll get him first."

"What?"

"I'll get to him before you do." Black's eyes met his. "Peter."

Severus held his gaze for a moment. "But my revenge," he said, slowly, savouring the thought, "will be the more painful. I guarantee."

"We won't mention this again? Snape? Severus?"

But Severus had already swept from the kitchen. He could no longer trust himself to speak.

He stalked from the house, the hard lump of the Pensieve banging against his hip. He cut across the street, down an alley, and intothe shadows, where he Apparated to Hogwarts' gates.

Mention it again. Why would they wish to? For all Black's wanting to 'share' the experience with a third party, he would not. Severus was sure.

_Surely not._

The headmaster was having a late cup of tea in his office. Severus unwrapped the bowl from his robes and went straight to put it back in the cupboard.

"Before you go, how is Harry doing?"

"He's lazy, impertinent and immature."

"Keep plugging away," said the Headmaster, with a wink. "And how was Sirius?"

Severus said, through his teeth, "Lupin stopped by, did he?"

Dumbledore studied him over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "Some sort of counselling session, I presume."

Severus nodded, warily.

"I told Remus as much. The Pensieve is very useful for that. I commend you on your …. initiative. I hope it helped you both to bury the past, Severus. Or go some way to repairing damage done."

Severus clamped his jaw on a bitter smirk and inclined his head. "I'm sure it has, headmaster. Goodnight."

"Sleep well, Severus."

Though Severus was already certain he would not.

_To be continued. **Don't forget to sign up for email alerts!**_

* * *

**NOTES AND NODS**

Wow, I've been blown away by the number of hits on this fic.

Thanks to my reviewers – **Kitala, Marauder3Moony, Melissa Jooty, Betty, Neous** – your comments are bolstering my confidence to continue writing this difficult story.

**Melissa **– your suggestions have been noted **:-)**

Thanks also to **Kira Snape, Stone Dog, Unspoken Tragedy, Waywardly** (book-marked to favs) and **Blued Black, Lethe82** (signed up for updates). I'm honoured.

Last but not least, my beta **Thirteen** **Ravens** for her encouragement and advice, and **Reflection in Fire** for her time and effort.


	4. Chapter 4

**WARNING: This is a serious fic about the after-effects of rape. It contains scenes of fantasy and sexual violence, plus intimate bodily functions. Please don't read any further if you have the slightest inkling that you shouldn't. Do not read this fic expecting non-con slash, this story is grounded in realism rather than fantasy.**

_The headmaster was having a late cup of tea in his office. Severus unwrapped the bowl from his robes and went straight to put it back in the cupboard._

"_Before you go, how is Harry doing?"_

"_He's lazy, impertinent and immature."_

"_Keep plugging away," said the Headmaster, with a wink. "And how was Sirius?"_

_Severus said, through his teeth, "Lupin stopped by, did he?"_

_Dumbledore studied him over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "Some sort of counselling session, I presume."_

_Severus nodded, warily._

"_I told Remus as much. The Pensieve is very useful for that. I commend you on your …. initiative. I hope it helped you both to bury the past, Severus. Or go some way to repairing damage done."_

_Severus clamped his jaw on a bitter smirk and inclined his head. "I'm sure it has, headmaster. Goodnight."_

"_Sleep well, Severus."_

_Though Severus was already certain he would not._

_(Recap – 20/20: Time Will Tell)_

**20/20: Damage Done**

The weeks passed. Severus found himself alternating between exasperation at having to jump to Umbridge's every whim whilst trying to control the more vindictive sides of his house under her rule, furious preparation of the OWLS, and long, timeless periods of complete numbness.

The world had changed. He was not sure of his place in this new world.

Most mornings he found himself perched on the edge of his bed in his night shirt, cold in the chill grey of dawn, not being able to fathom how long he had been sitting there, or what he had been thinking about.

After two weeks of this, he began to wonder if he had been Obliviated. It was then that he remembered what his brain was apparently trying to make him forget.

_The bitter aftertaste of Pettigrew's semen. The searing pain of Black's penis._

From that morning onwards, he still came around seated on the edge of his bed, knowing he had been awake for hours, the only difference being that this time there was always vomit down his front and on the floor. Occasionally, perhaps out of some notion of protest, he shit himself too.

At first the numbness only happened when he was alone. Then it began to leak into other aspects of his life: meal times, lessons, exam invigilating. There seemed to be no telling where it would strike next; except, it never struck, it just swallowed him whole.

His colleagues began to notice. Professor McGonagall asked him twice if there was anything the matter with him. He came to one day standing in the shade of a tree by the lake, and realised someone was touching him, someone behind him. The hex was out of his wand before he could stop it: but it was only Hagrid, looking bewildered and affronted, saying that he'd only wanted to help.

Help.

…_did the heavens see…?_

The only was he could think of to break the cycle was to see his memory of Black's memory, using the Pensieve. It made him vomit and dirty himself again. He replayed the parts where he was striking Black and binding him to the chair, and imagined himself striking harder and binding tighter and pummelling Black's face until it was mush.

And all he could hear was Black's barking laugh, uttered through a bloody, toothless maw.

It gave him an erection, and he spent an entire night sitting in a bath full of freezing water with a scrubbing brush and a bar of coal tar soap until his penis and his balls had shrunk so far into his body he imagined he was a gelding.

_Black should be a gelding. _

He conducted the next day's lessons as normal, quite enjoying himself as he conjured gory images of emasculating his rapist. It was much healthier, he thought, than abusing potions, which was his other alternative.

There were two guilty men, of course: but he banished Pettigrew from his fantasies – that could come later, he could not touch Pettigrew at all, just yet.

Nor could he really touch Black. That was the thing: everyone _loved_ him, _trusted_ him, _pitied_ him, _protected_ and _molly-coddled_ him and went the _extra distance_ to understand his _moods_ and his _sensitivities_.

To Severus, they had only ever paid these humanitarian sentiments lip service.

He could almost laugh at the irony. People were such idiots. They conducted their relationships with only a shallow appreciation of loyalty and trust. It confirmed his opinion of the majority of humankind.

_We should tell Dumbledore ….._

No. The shame. The weakness. He did not want to cry in front of anyone. Black would not win, he would not achieve his final triumph by revealing how Severus Snape could be hurt and humiliated and made to fear.

_What if he tells Lupin? He offered him the memory._

_Lupin and his social-worker temperament. That could blow the whole thing wide open. He would interfere in an effort to make things better. It would make things worse, everyone would know. That must not happen. How can I make that not happen?_

_What does Black want? What can I give him?_

His periods of catatonia waned with the intellectual pursuit of this issue, though they were replaced by nightmares in which he was fucking Black with a tiny, insignificant penis, and Black was yawning, so Severus beat him over the head with the Pensieve until his skull split open and his brains trickled out, and his penis grew as big as his arm as he continued to thrust.

These were wet dreams: sweat and semen and tears.

He did, however, feel more in control with the advent of these fantasies. At the next Death Eater meeting he ignored Pettigrew like the vermin he truly was, and did his duty to both his masters in the best ways he knew how. Nobody could ever reproach him for un-professionalism.

Dumbledore, though absent from school, was still intent on holding Order meetings, at Grimmauld Place. Black would be there. So would everyone else. Well, the bastard wouldn't stop him from doing his job.

He arrived punctually, as usual, and took his seat silently at the table, quite normally, as Molly and Nymphadora fought a friendly war of order versus chaos around the kitchen. Lupin greeted him politely and he responded with his usual cool.

Black took a seat at the farthest end of the table to him. He felt slightly disappointed. Dumbledore arrived and the meeting commenced. He dispensed his information and, as a collective, they drank it in and poured it out again. He remained mostly silent during the discussions, unless one or more of them said something completely ridiculous; then he mustered some light sarcasm and sprinkled a few enlightening details.

As always, Molly asked him to stay for dinner. He felt Black's gaze on him for the first time, and met his eyes. Black looked away, immediately.

It's almost like love, this hate … 

He declined the offer of the meal and got up to leave. He had made it to the front door when he realised that Black was following him, closing the kitchen door behind him, closing in on him down the hall.

He found himself powerless to move, watching Black walk towards him. An icy claw gripped his guts and squeezed.

Not so long ago, my wand would have been in my hand, and the hex on my lips … 

"I ... I just wanted to … say thanks for coming," Black finished, lamely.

Severus watched him, the nervous flick of his hair, wetting his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, tucking the hem of his shirt into his trousers, the flicker of his eyes.

"Er, how are you? Well?"

Severus let him fill the silence, for he had nothing to say.

"Harry tells me you cancelled his lessons."

He nodded, once.

"Any chance of starting them again?"

"None." The hoarseness of his voice surprised him.

"No, Lupin said … Lupin said he's tried to talk to you about it, but that you haven't …" Black looked uncomfortable.

Severus did not even have a memory of that conversation. Another memory lost.

Black took a step closer, and he could smell him, now, day-old sweat and Molly's washing powder.

His insides spasmed and for one awful moment he thought he might evacuate his bowels or vomit, or both. He drew a sharp breath, breaking out into a cold sweat: _Careful, dogs can smell fear._

"Sn – Severus?" Black stepped closer still, within arms length, concern writ large on his haggard features. "Are you alright?"

He was not. He could not move to fight or flee. He felt as if he had been Petrified. He had no power.

He had no power over this.

"What do you want?" The words came in a rush, ragged and thick.

Black examined his face closely, finally alighting his gaze on Severus' eyes. After a moment, he made a small sound in the back of his throat, and fell back three steps.

"Is this what _I've_ done to you?" he whispered.

"No!"

"I have."

"Not – no – fuck off!"

"_Filth of my womb, I should have ripped you from my body and chopped you into pieces before you took your first breath, blood traitor,–"_

Black dragged the curtains back across the portrait, brushing Severus' arm as he did. It felt like a knife had had its blade dragged across his flesh. But he could not move.

Black rested his hands on the frame of his mother's portrait and hung his head. "Severus, I can't bear to see you like this."

"Like what?" he hissed. "I'm not like anything!"

"If it's the memory," Black said, looking at him, "then, you know, maybe we should … get rid of it."

Severus stared at him, aghast that he could suggest such a thing. It was a memory, ergo it had happened, and Obliviation would not alter that fact; he was still vulnerable, he had still been hurt.

"Sorry," Black said, standing up straight, "I … I just want to –"

"Make it better?" Severus snarled. "Make it go away? So you don't have to look at it?" Suddenly appalled at the raw violence in his voice, he watched Black and wondered why the man did not strike him.

He backed away. This was altogether wrong. All wrong.

Bash in his head, splatter the blood, mash the brains into the carpet … 

… _feel better …_

He turned on his heels, wrenched open the door, and practically ran.

The next week was punctuated by eighteen freezing cold baths, six soiling incidents, two vomiting incidents, five enraged outbursts for no apparent reason, three mild catatonic episodes, two 'friendly' visits from Lupin that probably had nothing to do with Wolfsbane, a sudden aversion to owls, hunger, and a small bottle of opium that, after much consideration, remained uncorked but which he began to carry everywhere with him.

He did not know how to deal with this. He just thought he might wait, and distractions would take over and before he knew it he would not feel scared and dirty any more, and he could stop having the increasingly disturbing fantasies about murdering Black, which were becoming so much a part of his daily routine that he could not remember what thoughts had filled his head before.

…_like love, this fear …._

One evening, whilst turning the small bottle over and over in his hand, there was a knock at his door: he had been summoned to Umbridge's office. Almost exactly as he had expected, there were Potter and his cronies, in trouble again.

He was joyfully about to leave Umbridge to it, when Potter yelled out: "He's got Padfoot! He's got Padfoot at the place where it's kept!"

How he kept his composure, he did not know. Perhaps it was Potter's sheer unadulterated idiocy, or Umbridge's dangerous tenacity, or the fact that he noticed, for the first time, that Longbottom was in real danger of being throttled by Goyle.

But once he had reached his office again, he felt overcome by the quandary: there was no plan he knew of to capture Black, unless it had happened accidentally, in which case he was sure he would have been summoned; but what if he had not?

Dumbledore and McGonagall were both out of his contact. There was only one thing he could do.

He sank into his chair and pressed his cheek to the cool wood of his desk.

_It's your duty, as member of the Order. You have never shied away from anything in your life. You will not do so now._

He came round a while later. It took him several moments to realise that he must have had one of his blank episodes. Cursing, he ran through the grounds, trying to estimate how long he had been out.

He Apparated to London, close to Grimmauld Place.

The house looked empty; but then it usually did. He walked up the stepped and tapped it three times with his wand, and stepped inside before he could change his mind. The hallway was lit from the light coming from the kitchen. He walked towards it, every step a feat of determination.

The room was empty. Then Black was either upstairs, or was at the Department of Mysteries being tortured by the Dark Lord.

He mounted the stairs. They creaked at every step. The first landing was dark but a light shone from beneath two doors. He could hear the hippogriff in one. Black was obviously in the other.

"Black," he said, loudly.

He heard someone speak, then a thud and footsteps, and Black poked his head round the door.

"Snape? What – are you doing here?"

Severus could feel the banister rail against his back. "We need to talk."

"This – er, shit, this isn't the time."

"On the contrary –" He broke off to watch Sirius, who had turned to glance back into the room.

He realised, with a stab of shock, that he had someone with him.

"I will await you downstairs," he said, blandly, and turned away. He heard the door close, and voices. He went into the kitchen and straight to the sink, where he filled a chipped cup with water and drank deeply.

_Breathe. Slow your heart. Stop shaking. Think._

He heard footsteps on the stairs, two sets. He set the cup down and turned. Black entered the kitchen, followed only a step behind by Remus Lupin.

Black and Lupin Black and Lupin Black Lupin – 

_- together-_

"Well, well," he said, enjoying this sudden, cold feeling of composure. "All dogs together."

"Good evening, Severus," Lupin said, looking worn, seating himself at the table, but not before Severus had noticed his shirt buttons were all done up wrong.

Black simply looked at him, with anger and frustration and embarrassment.

"Did he force you into it, Lupin?"

Lupin looked puzzled.

"Don't fucking start," Black said through his teeth.

"What's going on?" Lupin asked.

"_You_ started it," Severus said, softly, his hand resting beside the comforting length of his wand in his pocket.

"This is not the time or –"

"You started it when –"

"He fucking _made_ me, Snape, or didn't you notice?"

"It didn't appear to take that much persuasion!"

"I SAID I WAS SORRY!" Black roared.

The room fell quiet. Snape realised that he had his wand out. Then Lupin said, quietly, "Would one of you like to enlighten me?"

"NO!" they both shouted.

"Regardless of the strength of your feelings," Lupin said, looking between them, in a tone that actually made Severus look twice at him, "I'd still like to know."

Black ignored him, staring at Severus. "Don't come here making trouble for me now. I offered to help. I said sorry. I don't see what else I can do to make it better."

"Of course," Severus said, tightly, "you appear to be taking solace yourself."

"Are you jealous?" Black demanded.

Severus laughed, almost soundlessly. "I seem to remember you weren't that good. Inconsiderate, one might say." He saw Lupin start from the corner of his eye.

Two angry, pink spots appeared on Black's pale cheeks. "So what's your problem?"

"You," he hissed, "would never be able to appreciate that in a _millennium_."

… _do the heavens see?_

Black looked contemplative. "No," he said, quietly, finally. "I _can_ say that I feel more betrayed by one of my friends than _you_ could ever imagine, because that's true, isn't it, Snape? You don't have friends, and you're the one doing all the betraying around here. But I loved Peter. James and Lily loved Peter –"

"_Spare me the history_ –"

"He took my life when he sealed their fate, don't you see?" Black asked, eyes glittering. "That he also did this, that he has made me responsible for this too, for you –" He broke off and hung his head. With a deep breath, he added, "I'm still trying to live some kind of half-life, Severus, with my remaining friend Moony, who I know will never betray me. I suppose you're entitled to feel cheated, never knowing joy. But I can't help that. I'm sorry for it, but I can't help it."

Silence, long and painful.

Severus said, "Then you're saying I should get over it, that I am the master of my own fate, and how I feel is my own fault?"

"No," Black said, meeting his eyes again. "I'm just telling you my side of it."

Lupin suddenly pushed his chair back and left the room. They could hear his light footsteps hurrying up the stairs.

"Did you come here to wreck one of the last happinesses I have?" Black asked, in a defeated tone.

Then Severus remembered why he had come. "No," he said. "I came to see if you were… safe. For security reasons. It would appear your godson has had a vision that you are trapped in the Ministry with the Dark Lord."

Now Black looked concerned. "Is Harry upset?"

"He's with Umbridge. She caught him and his friends breaking into her office to use the floo to contact you here. That's why I came." Severus felt very tired. He pocketed his wand again and sat in a chair at the table.

Black rubbed thoughtfully at the growth of beard on his chin. "You don't think he'd do anything stupid, do you?"

"He is a Gryffindor."

"Be constructive, will you?"

"Umbridge will probably lock him up and he'll be questioned about your whereabouts."

Black went to the door and shouted, loudly, "Moony!"

"We need to get word to Dumbledore," Severus said.

"That's easier said than done. It could take forever for a Patronus to reach him."

Severus suddenly realised where his muddled thinking had led them. If he had not faded out, if he had been able to act immediately…. Send a Patronus … But there was no risk, Potter would not be able to leave Hogwarts …

He heard Lupin on the stairs. He and Black looked at each other.

"Must we talk about this again?" Black whispered.

"Most likely," Severus answered, "or I fear I will go insane."

Lupin paused in the doorway.

Black said to him, "We've got a slight problem at Hogwarts."

Severus watched them together, and in his mind's eye still saw Black with wounds all over him, leaking blood and fluids over his clean white shirt, over Lupin, over the floor; and when he glanced down at his hands, resting palm-up on his knees, he thought they were covered in it too.

_To be continued. Don't forget to sign up for email alerts!_

_**NOTES AND NODS**_

Some of Severus' symptoms are those of **Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder**. Others I have added with artistic licence.

Please, if you've been affected by any of the issues I'm writing about, consider seeking help: a problem shared is a problem on its way to being dealt with.

Thank you, _thank you_ for reading this. **Please review**: it's been a difficult story to write and feedback would be fantastic. The next part will be the last in this story. Quite simply, it has wrung me out.

Thanks to all of you that have reviewed so far, I really appreciate it.

Last but not least: thanks to Thirteen Ravens.


	5. Chapter 5

**20/20: Clarity**

It was a cold feeling, to know that Black was dead. Not even cold comfort. Just a chill in his guts, a charcoal-grey sensation had it had a colour, sometimes the darkest red of cloying blood.

But there had been no blood. He had existed; then he had not.

There was no need for Severus to be at the Department of Mysteries, under any circumstances. But under the excuse of helping to pick over the breakages and other damage, he had gone all the same, and had stood before the Veil. He heard the voices. He imagined that one of them might have been Sirius Black, whispering his sorrow, expressing his regret with a twenty-twenty clarity that only those dead are given to possess.

He had not felt anyone come up behind him, only knew it when they spoke. "Don't get too close, Severus." Lupin, his tone grey, his face grey, grief moulding every contour of his prematurely young face.

"I have no intention of doing." He stepped back, all the same, more to put distance between himself and the werewolf.

Lupin stared at the Veil for a moment longer, then fixed his gaze onto Severus. He searched his face for a long moment, making Severus uncomfortable.

…_did the heavens see…?_

"Remus," someone called from the door, "give us a hand a minute, would you?"

"Yes," Lupin called over his shoulder, then turned once more to meet Severus' narrowed stare. "Severus, I think we need to talk."

"Perhaps, but that does not mean we should." Severus turned abruptly, and halted equally quickly as he came face to face with the veiled archway. He sidestepped it and strode towards the door.

"The Shrieking Shack," Lupin said, close behind him, matching his stride.

Severus snorted, derisively.

"Tonight, at ten."

"I'm busy," Severus said through his teeth.

"Washing your hair?"

Severus whirled and thrust Lupin against the wall by his throat. He looked unconcerned. Severus permitted himself the slightest squeeze of the animal's windpipe, then released him.

"You can consider me in your debt, should you decide to come," the Werewolf said, and turned past him through the doorway.

Severus gulped deep breaths, felt himself sliding backwards, fingers clawing at the owl-shit, _fingers …_

But it passed. He was not any of the men he had been. He felt stronger, coldly strong, powerful, master of himself. His assailant was dead, and now there was no chance of anyone ever finding out what had happened.

Except, perhaps, from Pettigrew.

_But that must wait._

_ooOoo_

9:20pm.

He glanced back down at his potion and cursed. Lost count. And, yes, the potion did not turn pink, but purple: ruined. Disgusted, he tossed his stirrer across the classroom, where it clattered into the sink.

"Ah, Severus." Dumbledore stood at the open door. "Some trouble?"

"None whatsoever, headmaster." He wiped his hands on a cloth and Scourgified the contents of the cauldron. "Can I help you?"

"Nothing at all, Severus, most kind of you to ask, however. No, I was simply passing and heard you, and recalled Remus Lupin telling me that, should I see you, I was to remind you of your meeting tonight. Ten o'clock, I believe."

Severus felt the blood drain from his face.

"There. I can go back to my rooms and drink my tea, satisfied I have done my job." Dumbledore winked, and withdrew.

Severus chewed his lip until he felt the hot coppery taste flood across his tongue. He turned and ransacked his cupboards for a salve. Of course Dumbledore didn't know. He was relaying a message. There was no sympathy in his tone, or suspicion in the way he looked at him … not precisely true, but he always looked at him like that …

… unless Lupin had told him.

His breath left him and he sagged against the workbench. It had been blatantly apparent to him that, when he had caught them together at Grimmauld Place, Lupin had no idea that his _boyfriend_ was a rapist. Black would have had time to at least give him the bare bones of the story, and yet left him with many questions with which he might have gone to Dumbledore …

_Lupin and his social-worker temperament._

He would have to go and meet him. His fist came down on the workbench, driving his nails into the flesh of his palm. He glanced at the calendar on the wall: only a quarter moon, no danger there.

But he did not want to be alone with another man in the middle of nowhere. The mere thought of it made him nauseous. The man was strong, had violence, _had a penis._

He fell against the sink and retched. He felt himself sliding ….

_Revenge is a dish best eaten cold._

He raised watering eyes to the porcelain reflection in the tiles. He didn't quite like the half-formed thought, but the more he prodded it the more substantial it became.

After all, he couldn't make Black suffer. And his vengeance upon the Werewolf had been a long time coming. Unemployment had not even touched the sides of that particular hole in his soul.

He knocked on the tap and water splashed into the sink, washing his vomit away. He filled his hand and supped it, rinsing out his mouth, and considered various ways of getting rid of the smell of fear, that the werewolf would surely scent upon him, even in his human state.

_ooOoo_

The shack looked pretty much as it always had. It seemed to move with a life of its own, echoing with creaks and groans and the laughter of boys, some of whom were now dead.

Severus stood at the foot of the rickety staircase, looking around him. Human footprints had scuffed the dust on the floor, showing him that Lupin had probably had a reminiscent wander around whilst he waited.

"Lupin!" he called in an impatient tone.

"I'm here, Severus," came Lupin's voice from behind him. Severus whirled. Lupin was an untidy shadow in a room just off the hall. He walked into the light cast by Severus' wand. He looked … composed. That was Lupin all over: passions repressed, emotions controlled, hiding behind politeness and good intentions.

All lies.

_…. fury, pain, humiliation …._

"Thanks for coming," he added. His voice was grateful and kind and made Severus want to drive his fist into his face.

_… Bash in his head, splatter the blood, mash the brains into the carpet …_

His hand felt sticky on his wand, which was wavering slightly. He realised that he had forgotten to speak, then that he didn't actually want to say anything.

Lupin gestured behind him with his wand and the shadowy room sprang to life with light. "I built a fire whilst I was waiting," he explained, as if they were on a camping trip.

"Smoke," Severus heard himself say.

"Dealt with," Lupin replied. "Come in." He turned and walked over to the fireplace, and settled himself on a filthy footstool. Across from it he had positioned a winged armchair that was slashed across the back so that the stuffing leaked out, but otherwise seemed sturdy enough. Between the two seats was a small crate that Lupin had covered with a white handkerchief, and laid out two glasses and a decanter filled with a dark liquid.

Severus did not move from the doorway.

"Drink, Severus?" There was a clink of thick glass on glass as he removed the stopper. "It's a Burgundy. I thought you'd appreciate it. Good quality."

Severus made himself move and walked to stand beside Lupin, who held up a glass. He took it and automatically raised it to his nose and inhaled: he spoke the truth; he took a sip.

Lupin raised his glass.

"To absent friends?" Severus sneered.

This time Lupin did not disguise his hurt. He lowered his glass untouched, his gaze falling from Severus' face. Severus took another sip and seated himself comfortably in the chair, crossing his legs.

"That was uncalled for," Lupin said, meeting his gaze again.

"I will decide what is and what is not uncalled for," Severus said, enjoying the sensation of power racing through his veins. "Have you asked me here to change my mind about your dead friends? You would be wasting your time."

Lupin was silent for a moment as he searched Severus' expression. "I haven't come here to argue," he said. "I had hoped that we could put some things behind us. And, naturally, ask you about Sirius. About the nature of your relationship."

Severus stared at him in astonishment. A smug satisfaction spread though him: Lupin did not know.

"It did not escape your notice," Lupin continued, "that we were lovers."

Severus snorted, twisting a smile; inside his head were the images from the Pensieve _… sliding … pain …_

Lupin's gaze was steady. "You were lovers, too. Weren't you?"

As Severus raised his glass for another sip, he saw how much it was shaking. Lupin's eyes never left him.

"You can say it, Severus," he said. "It won't shock me or hurt me. But then we have something in common, you see. Something that we can build on."

"Be friends?" Severus spluttered. His arm jerked and he dashed the glass into the fire. "How _wrong_ you are!"

Lupin's eyes were shiny in the candle-light. "I loved him," he said, softly. He paused, and there was a catch in his breath. "Did _you_?"

… _like love, this hate …_

Severus stared at the wine decanter. He felt Black behind him, pushing him against the table in the dingy kitchen, Black's flaccid penis pressing against his own skinny buttocks. He felt Black beneath him on the floor, prone from a hex, helpless sarcasm pouring from his lips in an effort to get punished. He felt Black's erection tearing at his flesh, hurting and humiliating him.

"No," he said, his voice cracking. "I did not."

Thank Merlin, it was the truth, but the scale of his obsession revealed itself to him, and he covered his eyes so that Lupin could not see the tears there.

"Severus," Lupin whispered, and a hand touched his. He leaped up and away, the violence of his reaction mirrored in the shock on Lupin's face. "I'm sorry!"

The shock had let him find himself again, and he bared his teeth at Lupin. "Did he stick it in you, Lupin?" he asked in a low, dangerous tone. "Did you get him hard, and let him stick it in your arse? Did you suck him first? Did you like it when he emptied his load into you, and it dribbled out again, down your leg and onto the floor, mingled with the piss _because you'd wet yourself in your excitement_?"

The catch in his voice stopped him.

Lupin appeared to be trying to think very fast. "Well," he said, "apart from a couple of details … but, Severus, I … you … because I don't think …" He finally held up his hands. "I don't think I can say anything to that."

"You can say," Severus said quietly and precisely, "_I'm so sorry that my boyfriend raped you, Severus_."

There followed a deafening silence. Only the fire whispered.

"You're mistaken," Lupin said.

"I am not," Severus hissed.

Lupin was ashen. He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Opened it and said, "You've said some cruel, vindictive things in your time, Severus –"

"The truth sometimes _hurts_ –"

"You are _mistaken_."

"How can you _mistake_ rape?"

"You know what Sirius was like – got out of hand –"

"And what is it that you think I was doing with that smelly mutt that might have _got out of hand_? A _flirtation_? A _romantic_ _get together_?" Severus only just stopped himself from stamping his foot. He took a deep, shaky breath. "I assure you, Lupin, it was none of the above. It was as far removed from love-making as you could possibly imagine."

_This is good. I am enjoying myself._

Lupin downed his glass and poured some more, but left it on his little table. He stared past Severus into the fire. His jaw was set, his brows pulled down, deep in thought. Finally, a log shifted and broke his contemplation.

"The memory in the Pensieve," he said, softly.

"Yes, indeed." Severus snatched up Lupin's glass and almost took a mouthful. He met the werewolf's eyes, replaced it, and grasped the bottle instead.

"Wouldn't want to catch anything," he murmured, and took two mouthfuls.

Lupin stared into the fire. "I'd like to see it. The memory."

"It's hardly _titillating_."

"I'm not expecting it to be!"

"And, besides, he's dead." Oh, it gave him no small satisfaction to say that.

"Your memory," Lupin said doggedly. "_Your_ memory of his memory." He looked up.

"Yes," Severus said through his teeth, "_my_ memory."

Lupin examined him thoroughly. Finally he said, "I'm entitled to some measure of proof."

Severus shrugged. "You wanted this meeting, Lupin. To talk about how I felt about your _boyfriend_."

"Don't say it like that!" 

"And now I have told you exactly how I feel!" He bent down to stare into Lupin's flushed face. "Humiliated. Furious. And you think we can be friends? I think not. I think this conversation, and any hope you had for bringing me into the fold, or the kennel, is over. Goodnight."

He did not for one moment intend to leave, and was satisfied when Lupin called, almost desperately, after him: "Severus – stop! Wait!"

He halted, feeling his cloak curl around his legs, sweeping up the dust. He heard Lupin stand and take a tentative step. He turned and drank in the fabulous sight of the cowed werewolf.

"If you didn't come here to give me the whole truth, with the Pensieve," Lupin said, "then why did you come at all?"

"To see if you knew. To discover whether you had told Dumbledore. It is apparent you have done neither. I have done what I came to do."

"Then," Lupin paused, "you told me about the rape simply to hurt me."

Severus said nothing: it was the truth.

"Or," Lupin continued, hesitantly, "to ask for my help."

There was a shocked silence. Severus drew in a harsh breath, his hand automatically brushing the wand in his pocket. "I don't think you're in any position to help me, Lupin."

Lupin closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. As usual he was commanding his emotions well, but to Snape, who knew the signs, he looked utterly bereft. "The very act telling about your … about what happened … don't you think that has helped?"

Severus gave this serious consideration. It had certainly helped to see the naked hurt in Lupin's eyes. To know that Black had been demeaned forever in the eyes of one who had loved him.

… _the truth hurts…_

Why should he not show Lupin the scene? He would see just what a bastard Sirius Black had been. And that rat, Pettigrew. The ones who had loved him and who he had loved. How did it feel for Lupin, to have this taint the memory of his friends, to have his past re-written and his present in doubt and disarray, not to be able to trust his own judgement any more, to feel betrayed?

_I know how that feels._

Suddenly Severus realised what he had done. As a by-product of his resentment and revenge, he had made them the same.

That could not be. _I am not the same as this pathetic creature._ He drew his wand and pointed it at a horrified Lupin, who was too slow to match him.

"Please let me help, Severus," Lupin breathed, quickly, appealingly.

Severus arched a brow. "Don't you wish you could un-know what you now know about him?"

Lupin looked defeated. He did not reply.

…_fingers, sliding …pain…_

"And if I showed you the scene in the Pensieve?" he asked, tightly, "Could you still cherish his memory?"

A tear slid down Lupin's cheek.

"And could you keep your grief and your bewilderment to yourself?" Severus probed, softly, silkily, sighting down the length of his wand to the spot on Lupin's shabby jacket that hung over his heart.

"I wouldn't be alone," Lupin whispered. "Severus, please, don't Obliviate me. We can help each –"

"I don't want to help you!" 

"_I_ want to help _you_!"

The words were like a blow. Severus lost his target as his hand shook and his eyes met Lupin's again. The werewolf looked genuine. Severus had no doubt that he was. _He wanted to be friends_.

Nice doggy friends licking each other's bollocks and frolicking together … 

"I have no need for friends," he breathed, taking aim again. "After all, look where that got me before."

"Severus –"

"_Obliviate_!"

_ooOoo_

"Potter!"

He could tell by the look on the boy's face that he blamed him completely for the death of his godfather. Even without Legilimency, the boy's thoughts were almost tangible.

_One day_, he thought, smugly, his resentment burning in his guts, _one day …_

Professor McGonagall turned up and spoilt his fun somewhat, but if truth be told it was timely interference, before he said or did something he regretted: the hurt was still too raw, he had not managed to master it completely. That would take time.

She sent Potter outside. Draco followed, equally sullen, after a moment. Then she turned to him, her sharp eyes examining his face. "Professor Snape … Severus … his godfather has just died. Perhaps you could be a little more understanding?"

He twisted his mouth into a smile, with only the hint of a sneer. "I could."

"Whatever it is," she said, "get over it. The past is the past. Don't blame the boy for what his predecessors did. It was six of one and half-a-dozen of the other – if I remember rightly, you didn't take it lying down."

He stared at her, marvelling at her choice of words. That it came down to this: in death, Sirius Black was untouchable, they would all love him, forever, even if they knew the truth.

Pettigrew knows the truth.

He smiled, as sincerely as he could, though judging by her expression this worried her more.

… _like love, this hate …_

"We can't let Potter and Malfoy get out of hand," he said. "It needs to be nipped in the bud. Lest the school have another generation of antagonism on its conscience."

She was thinking: _revenge is a dish best eaten cold_. But, for the moment, he had had his fill.

But she was right. _She was right._

The End

* * *

Yes, this is the end of **'20-20'**. For my sanity. It's been emotionally hard to write and probably a trial to read; but writing and reading should be challenging, sometimes. 

A big thanks to my betas Thirteen Ravens and Gwendolyn Grace, and thanks to everyone who has left reviews and added me to favs, or been following this from the shadows.

I have another WIP **'Smoke and Mirrors'** which is Snape-centric but entirely different to this one, please check it out. Lots of hot het sex. Even in this fandom, there is such a thing ;-)

Adred x


End file.
